


One is One, and All Alone

by The_Pied_Avocet



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: BBK Week, Black Butler Kids' Week, Black Butler Kids' Week Day Two, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Future AU, Hurt/Comfort, I don't like the name Astre but it's the most popular one so it's used here, basically if the fire never happened and Ciel and "Astre" grew up as normal, school days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 06:34:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15600435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Pied_Avocet/pseuds/The_Pied_Avocet
Summary: Ciel and Astre have just completed their first semester at Weston College and are returning home for their winter holiday. But only one of the brothers is successful at his studies, and Vincent intends to find out why the other isn't doing so well.





	One is One, and All Alone

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt is for Day Two of Black Butler Kids' Week: School Days.
> 
> I put RCiel in the Purple House because I have him somewhat artistic in another drabble I'll be posting this week, so it seemed to work out. Don't question it too much. I'm very tired

The Phantomhive manor had never looked so ready for Christmas. That was saying something, considering how much history was under the roof. Boughs of fir branches framed every entranceway, and a wreath or plump ribbon hung from every door. There were paper stars dangling from candle fixtures, garlands of poinsettias wrapped around the banisters, nutcrackers populating every console table. Decorative glass bowls were filled with winter nelis pears, so fat and golden that they were almost identical to the large brass bells illuminating the corners of every room. And the tree, the most glorious thing about Christmas, glistened under a blanket of tinsel and beads, streamers and bows, with candles amongst the branches that, when lit, made every ornament glow like a crown jewel and the star on top shine like its real-life counterpart.

As Vincent walked the halls today, maids and butlers hummed carols as they flitted from chore to chore, paying no heed to how they behaved like giddy children in their master’s presence. Vincent did not mind. In fact, it warmed him, because this was more than a case of Christmas spirit: Ciel and Astre were coming back from their first semester at Weston this very morning, and it was putting the entire household in jolly moods.

Vincent’s bright-eyed, brilliant boys had filled the manor with their laughter for years. Their absence had been felt by all. Now that they were returning, it was more than enough cause to celebrate. “Oh, they are the very definition of Christmas, those two,” Hettie, one of the senior scullery maids, had said, with her hands upon her plump rosy cheeks. “They’re bringin’ it home with them, they are.” And to Vincent, she couldn’t have been more correct. He had never been a properly religious man. To him, Christmas _was_ his children, his children and the novelty the holiday still held in their young hearts.

But… they were not babes anymore. And college was the next big step on their way to adulthood.

Ciel and Astre had only just turned thirteen four days ago. They were a little bit younger than their schoolmates. Rachel had wanted them to stay home another year, wait until they were properly thirteen to attend school, but Vincent had persuaded her otherwise. The twins had outgrown their nursery. They wanted to test boundaries and break rules. This was the time for professors and peers to curb budding behaviors before they became habits. Besides, they couldn’t become men until they started making their own decisions, facing the troubles of friendship and schoolwork without Mother and Father to lead the way. Delaying these lessons another twelve months was out of the question – especially in boys as clever as Ciel and Astre.

Well… _Vincent_ knew they were clever. Only one boy’s grades proved it so. The marks hadn’t been delivered yet, but Vincent had been warned what to expect by Edward. Vincent had enlisted his nephew in keeping an eye on the twins, because it wasn’t unusual for first years to struggle. According to Edward, Astre had really taken to college, as most boys in the Blue House did. He studied every evening for an hour, and had found companionship in Macmillan, a lad the same age as Astre, whom Edward stated was nothing but a positive and loyal influence. Astre was especially talented at language and writing, struggling initially at maths but seeking tutoring until he’d polished that too. All in all, Astre was an exemplary student.

Ciel was more of a mystery. He’d been selected to live in the Purple House, and Edward apparently didn’t glimpse him often enough to know how his studies went. From the few occasions Edward had gotten a hold of him, Ciel seemed distracted and disorganized. Edward had asked him to check in with his dormitory warden or meet him in the library for help, but Ciel never took him up on the offer. Only some exam results were posted publicly, but what Edward had seen so far wasn’t good. Somewhere along the way, Ciel had stopped caring about his performance in school, and it had to be remedied as soon as possible.

“I don’t know where Ciel spends most of his time outside of class,” Edward had written. “I’d ask one of the Violet Wolf boys to keep after him, but you probably remember how it is between the houses. Even some of the Green Lion boys have been nagging me for talking with my own cousins. Don’t worry, I won’t abandon them. But Ciel should know that he’s not behaving as a proper fiancé to Lizzie! Next semester he _has_ to do better!”

Yes, next semester Ciel would have to do better, and not just for Elizabeth’s sake. Weston had no patience for boys who didn’t put their studies first. If Ciel were slacking off, the headmaster would find out about it and expel him without debate. So, while Vincent was thrilled to have his sons home, he also had to make Ciel very aware of his disappointment – before matters got out of hand.

The carriage that had been sent to collect the boys from the South Western Railway Station had been festooned in sleigh bells all along the horses’ harnesses. Therefore, Vincent and Rachel had heard the carriage long before it pulled up to the drive. Rachel stood in the threshold by her husband, ringing her hands and tearing up. “My babies will be taller,” she said. “Their hair will be different, their hands not so soft. Oh, I’ve missed so much of their lives.”

“Only four months, darling,” Vincent reminded. He lifted her hand to his mouth to briefly kiss her knuckles, then kept her fingers entwined in his own.

“But they grow so fast at this age,” Rachel sighed. “Thirteen! They will be men by summer.”

“The day will come when we’ll wish they’d faster grow.”

“The day is already here that I wish they’d still fit in my arms.”

This December morning the Phantomhive boys were neither men nor infants, but something in between, persons half-formed. They would speak a little differently, having been exposed to slang and cursing that would make Rachel gasp and Vincent smother his own amusement. Their father’s authority would be tried. They’d ask to get away from the manor, to spend less time with their parents, missing their newfound independence. And Vincent would have to ‘yes’ and ‘no’ their desires with steadfast resolution, all the while knowing that being faced with rebellion at every turn was simply _the way of things_.

But those discussions would all come later. Right now, they were a happy family again, together at last for the holidays.

The front doors burst open. In came Ciel and Astre in their matching wool peacoats and uniform trousers, racing into the foyer without bothering to kick the snow off their boots, too excited to be home. Everyone else was too excited to bother with a scolding anyway. As Rachel enveloped her children in the tightest hug, the boys declared, “We’re home, everybody!” to which all the staff nearby chorused, “Welcome home, young masters!” and the room's baubles seemed to glow a bit brighter.

“Oh, my boys, my boys,” Rachel fawned, patting each on the head. “Let me look at you. Let me see you. I’ve missed your faces so much.”

“Welcome back, boys,” Vincent said with his signature half-smile. “I think you’ll find everything just as you left it.”

“It’s so good to be home!” Astre chirped, letting his mother cradle his face in her hands. “I missed it more than I thought I did! It feels like it was forever ago since we were here, doesn’t it, Ciel?”

“Yeah, it does,” Ciel agreed. “It’s strange. Like none of the last four months even happened.”

“Where’s Sebastian?” Astre looked around. “I thought he’d be underfoot.”

Rachel pushed back his bangs, smiling softly. “I imagine he found some nice cushion to rest on. You know he’s getting a little long in the tooth.”

“Well we’ve just started to become friends, since I’m strong enough to push his head away now,” Astre said with a laugh. “I have a trick I want to try and teach him. Something funny for Christmas.”

Ciel shoved his brother's shoulder playfully. “Silly! Can’t teach an old dog new tricks, don't you know? Come on, let’s hurry and change clothes so we can see if Cook has any sweets for us.”

“Hang on.” Rachel reached for him next. “Let me see you too.”

Ciel froze up beneath her hands. “I-I’m not much changed, really.”

“Oh, don’t fuss, now, I’m just being a mother.” Rachel looked at him with sentiment clouding her gaze. That sentiment swiftly dissolved into ponderous confusion. “Oh… dear, what is this by your eye…?”

Ciel leaned away. “I got some snow on my face. Astre threw a snowball at me. It’s fine.”

Rachel came after him, licking her thumb. “No, no, this isn’t snow… It’s like… A powder of some sort… Oh, goodness gracious!” she cried, drawing her hands to her mouth.

“See? I told you it wouldn’t work,” Astre sighed.

“Hmm,” said Vincent, bending down with his hands in his trousers’ pockets. “And what have we here…?”

Where Rachel had smudged at Ciel's eyelid with her thumb, a dark plummy color was left behind. Beneath this layer of flour or chalk dust or whatever element Ciel had employed to hide his bruise was a rather substantial black eye. Hmm, indeed. So not only had his oldest been doing poorly in school but he’d been fighting too. Ciel didn’t even conjure up an argument, except to grit his teeth in displeasure at being so swiftly discovered. There was no point in talking himself out of it now.

“Oh, what happened to you, darling?” Rachel breathed, reaching out before her. The staff had started to edge their way out of the room, giving the family privacy in this awkward moment.

Vincent placed a hand on Ciel’s shoulder. “I think that’s rather evident. Yes?”

“… It’s only a blinker,” Ciel grumbled.

“A good one,” Vincent said. “That’s a right hook. Someone was unhappy with you.”

“Well I didn’t let them get away without a prize either,” Ciel sniffed, and Rachel gasped again.

“Why didn’t we hear about this from Weston? Why didn’t we get a letter? Who was the other boy? When did this happen? Oh, Vincent, this is terrible… a fight! What should we do?”

Then Astre sneezed, which made for a perfect segue.

“Why don’t you and Astre go to the main room by the fire, and you can warm him up,” Vincent said. “Ciel… let us get that eye taken care of.”

“Oh, love, you only just got home,” Rachel sighed, her mild way of showing disapproval, and the parents separated with one child apiece.

Vincent hadn’t seen the need to jump right into the business of scolding. He’d planned to let Ciel get settled and then broach the matter of his low marks the following day. But Ciel's behavioral trouble was already worse than Vincent had feared. Letting it go now would be far too dismissive. It must be addressed posthaste.

Ciel didn’t walk side by side with his father but a short ways behind, wary. When he realized they were heading to the master bedroom, he slowed up a little in surprise – he hadn’t been in there since his youth. Vincent opened the door to the bedroom’s antechamber and waited for Ciel to go in. He did so with shuffling reluctance.

“Stay here,” Vincent instructed, which made Ciel look even more nervous. Vincent returned moments later with a damp washcloth. Ciel hung back when his father brought it towards his face.

“Hold still,” Vincent said merely. “We’ve got to get that stuff, whatever it is, off your face.”

“I can do that myself, you know.”

“Yes, I know. I insist.”

Ciel’s brow furrowed as the terrycloth brushed his right eye. He tried not to flinch away from the touch, and not just because it stung, Vincent knew. It simply wasn’t orthodox for an esteemed head of household to be attending his son’s bruises – but this wasn’t a loving gesture. It was a reminder that he was still in charge. Some fathers preferred to beat this lesson into their sons, but Vincent fancied these small, methodical actions drove the point home just as well. It was unnerving to be cared for by someone who was disappointed in you. It was off-putting to be nurtured by the man who found your behavior disgraceful. Ciel had to try hard not to squirm.

These contradictory actions suited Vincent. He smiled at his enemies when he was about to kill them too. But this act of washing his son’s face wasn't entirely meant for chastisement. It gave Ciel a second to collect himself and calm down. Even as he stood uncomfortably beneath the hand, Vincent did see the fire ebbing out of his other eye.

Eventually, most of that strange powdery substance had been wiped away, baring a color that was blackest purple. The mark's coverage resembled that of an eye patch: almost a straight line beneath the brow but curved along the eye socket. “That bruise looks rather fresh.”

Ciel shrugged.

“Sit,” said Vincent, and the two faced opposite each other on cashmere sofas.

Vincent always studied people before he began a serious conversation with them. He had learned to do this early on in his career as the Queen’s watchdog. Most people were not like him. Most people could keep emotion in check for only so long, and tended to lose their grip altogether once threatened. Vincent could wear a poker face indefinitely. As far as his enemies were concerned, he went through life with a pocketful of aces. But to his friends, family, and confidants, he had to be more careful, more earnest. Thus, the game wasn’t about how to get the truth from Ciel – by itself, that would be all too easy. The game was how to get the truth from Ciel without hurting their relationship.

As always, Vincent would be trying for the royal flush.

“You look very discouraged,” Vincent began.

Ciel did, though some frustration seeped into his expression at that comment. “I was gonna tell you eventually,” he growled. “Just not right away. I didn’t want to make Mother upset.”

“I believe that would have been inevitable.” Vincent drummed his fingers once on the armrest. “Your behavior has _been_ upsetting. Has it not?”

“Yes, sir.” Ciel leaned his chin on his fist.

“Look at me now,” Vincent said. “Tell me about this fight.”

Ciel looked at him for only a second. “It was just some messing around with the other boys in the bedroom. We were all riled up for the holiday and our boxing got out of hand.”

That comment earned a wagging finger. “You’re lying, and not well, I'm afraid. Look at me now. I want to know what really happened.”

Ciel was quiet.

Vincent tried a different angle. “Does your fight have anything to do with the low marks you’ve been receiving? Edward warned me to be prepared for it.”

“…” Flushing but resigned anger. “Yeah, it does.”

“You’re lying again.” Ciel’s head shot up. “Yes, I know you’re lying. Don’t wonder how; it’s my expertise to catch a liar. And those grades of yours are a talk for another day, for it is disappointing to hear you’re doing poorly. I know you are smart, and it’s your duty to prove it. But putting that aside,” Vincent said, “any time now, I’m ready for the true story behind that ‘blinker.’”

A flurry of emotions crossed Ciel’s face. Children did not know how easy they were to decipher. Even when they lied, they were honest. Vincent was actually quite charmed by honesty. It endeared him to see someone struggle with their own feelings. Ciel struggled now. He looked fierce yet sad. “There’s a boy at school,” he finally said. “Maurice Cole. He bullies the other boys in his house. He threatens them into doing his homework and his fag duties, and he makes them keep it a secret, so everyone else thinks he’s this wonderful person. Especially the others in the Red House. Even I thought he was this perfect goody two-shoes type. But I found out the truth one night.”

“One night?” Vincent stopped him there. “If he’s in the Red House, how did you find out about what he did at night? You should have been in your dormitory, yes?”

“Well, I wasn’t,” Ciel huffed.

“Yes, evidently. And why weren’t you?”

“Because sometimes I take walks at night,” Ciel snipped, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Vincent tilted his chin up. “In the snow?”

“They clear away the paths.”

It would still be quite cold. “Hmm. Continue.”

“So when I was taking a walk, I passed the Red House, and I saw Cole was out of bed too, and he was talking with a younger student.” Ciel looked at Vincent seriously then. “Cole was saying some terrible things, Father. Things about slicing the other boy with scissors and leaving him naked on the front steps of the school. Humiliating him. I’ve never heard anyone talk that way before... I made to go back to my house, but that Cole had lookouts around, wouldn’t you know it. And that lookout introduced himself by slugging me in the eye.”

This story was far more interesting than Vincent could have predicted. It reminded him of the sort of trouble he himself might’ve gotten in during his Weston days… but not when he was only thirteen. “Should I be relieved you walked away with only one eye blackened?”

Ciel snorted bullishly. “I told you, I left the other boy with a prize too. I could take him.”

“Very well. Then, what happened next?”

“Cole interrupted us before it could go too far. And he said he was happy to get me expelled for fighting and being out at night, and the professors would likely take his word against mine… But he wasn’t dumb. I had dirt on him too, and he knew it. So he told me if I kept his little rendezvous a secret, he’d disguise my black eye, and we’d be even.”

Vincent raised a brow. “So he offered you chalk and flour?”

Ciel rubbed at the concave of his eye reflexively. “I just used chalk dust today. That Cole kid, he had some real makeup that he used on me… I don’t know why, but he had it. You wouldn’t hardly be able to tell I’d been socked. No one could. And it was only two days before the holidays, so we didn’t have to keep it up for long. We’d meet every few hours in the library, since no one was in there after final exams, and he’d touch up my eye with this weird powdery stuff. I wouldn’t say a word to him the whole time. I hate him.” Ciel’s fists had been tensing and relaxing. “He’s the one who ought to be expelled. But I can’t do anything about it, or I’ll get expelled too.”

Vincent put a hand to his chin. “A curious fear, coming from one who may be expelled by his own handiwork – or lack thereof. Hmm?”

Ciel opened his mouth but paused, thinking, and tried, “I’m not failing, though. I’m not doing as badly as some boys are.”

“The other boys aren’t important. Your performance is the only one that concerns me.” Vincent leaned forward, slinging one leg over the other and cupping his palms around the top one’s knee. “Especially when you are racking up other such offenses. You know that sneaking out of your dormitory is worth two Y’s at least.”

“I haven’t been caught yet.”

“That brings me little comfort. Why are you walking around at night?”

“…” Ciel chewed his lip, looking at the carpet. “…To see Astre.”

“Ah.” Vincent nodded. “Now I’m beginning to understand.”

“Why did they put us in different houses?” Ciel sounded mad again. The words were spilling from him quickly. “I never get to see him anymore! Sometimes we have a class together, but even then we can’t talk, so it’s not any good. Father, if I didn’t sneak out, I’d only get to see Astre for maybe an hour a day! And even then, the other boys might push me around, since he’s a Sapphire Owl. It really, really pisses me off!” Ciel clapped a hand over his mouth when he realized he’d cussed, badly. “Um… I didn’t mean to say that.”

Vincent ignored it for the time being. “So, Astre is sneaking out too?”

“… Well, he was.” Ciel sniffed. “For the first month, he hated it there too.”

“You hate Weston, Ciel?”

“I don’t _know_.” Ciel was getting more upset. He moved his head a lot while he spoke and looked at the ceiling, as if warding off tears. “All I know is I can’t see Astre anymore because of all of Weston's stupid rules. And now, now Astre even _likes_ it there and he doesn’t get why I don’t, and he doesn’t sneak out anymore to meet me. And even before, I did all the sneaking, all he had to do was make it outside his dormitory. I would go all the way from the Purple House to the Blue House, because I knew it was harder and scarier for Astre to get in trouble. But then one night he told me that we couldn’t do it anymore, because he didn’t want to get any Y’s, and he didn’t want me to either. And he told me he _did_ want to see me b-but he mustn’t have meant it, because then he would see me no matter what!”

Ciel rubbed his face across his sleeve. “I’m so worried about getting expelled, because then I won’t even see Astre at all, but when I try to study, I can’t focus, and I can’t pay attention in class because I want to talk with Astre, and I know it would all be okay if I were in the Blue House too, but the house warden says they can’t switch me, because there’s no spare beds, and the school doesn’t just switch people around whenever they want to be switched anyway.” Astre’s face was becoming messy with tears but he refused to take out his handkerchief. Either he didn’t notice he was crying or he didn’t want to notice. “And I don’t get why Astre doesn’t miss me as much as I miss him, like he’s already used to not sleeping in the same room or doing everything together. Well, I’m not! I don’t like it! I can’t stand the thought of going back there in two weeks! I want to be with Astre and do things like we always did! He’s forgetting me or something! Or that Macmillan friend of his is making Astre like him more! Or-”

“Ciel,” Vincent interrupted, firm but calm, “let yourself take a breath. At this rate, you’re becoming hysterical.”

“Or the others at the Blue House are telling him that the Purple House isn't as good as theirs, and Astre's embarrassed of me-"

Vincent held up a hand. "Ciel. A breath."

Finally, the advice came through. Ciel stopped talking and breathed, raggedly, a couple of times, before those breaths turned into steady, wordless crying. Vincent did not speak either. His expression remained placid but inside he felt an epiphany growing. He was realizing that his child was a very sensitive boy: a boy who not only couldn’t keep his emotions in check for long, but was more often at their mercy. These past four months had been a trial for him. It was in that period of watching Ciel cry that Vincent found himself thinking _Perhaps Rachel was right about them needing one more year_. But if he’d had to choose the son he thought would need more time in his parents' care, it was Astre. Ciel had always been the more mature one.

Or… had he? Ciel had had more responsibilities growing up, because Astre was often sick or frail from sickness. He was not shy around guests, and he loved talking with adults. Ciel was merry and outspoken and lively. But was he confident – especially without his brother nearby? Ciel tended to speak of his future title as lord as if Astre would be sharing that title with him. And he needed Astre’s approval before he made any big decision, too, such as on what to buy as a holiday souvenir, or whether he should enter a relay race at an Easter party. And the last time Vincent saw Ciel in such a state of distress, it was the day he let Ciel try on the Phantomhive family ring…

All along, Vincent had imagined it was only Astre who needed Ciel. He should have realized what that would inevitably lead to: Ciel needed Astre to need _him_. And now that Astre didn’t, Ciel was lost.

This would have to be sorted out at once. Ciel had no choice but to go back to school, but Vincent would not see him remain miserable.

For starters, Vincent dug into his vest pocket and passed over his handkerchief. “Wipe your face, now. There you are.”

Ciel buried his face in the cloth. "S-Sorry."

“And I am also sorry,” Vincent began, “that school has started out so roughly for you. I should have foreseen this.”

Ciel hiccuped. “Wh-What do you mean?”

“I thought it was good that you and Astre were put into different houses,” Vincent said. “I encouraged the school to do it.” He raised his hand again, as Ciel looked about to shout. “As you know, I was in the Blue House. I knew it would be a good fit for Astre when he was chosen for it – the boys there tend to be the most gentle. Perhaps you would also have ended up in the Blue House, if it weren’t for my say-so. But I thought the Purple House would also suit you well. Violet Wolves are… admittedly a bit more eccentric than the other houses, but a very creative bunch that tend to see the world a little differently. I thought that outlook would stimulate you socially and academically.” Vincent offered his usual half-smile but with no malice behind it. “Yet I hear you saying that you can’t focus on your academics when apart from Astre.”

Ciel nodded. He was flushed now, probably ashamed of crying so much. Vincent could not be any farther from disappointed. Perhaps he was even a little jealous. To cry, openly and honestly, was, in its own way, a sign of strength. He simultaneously hoped Ciel would never lose this ability and knew Ciel had to if he was to become the Queen’s watchdog.

“It’s important to me that you grow apart from your brother,” Vincent said gently. “Listen to me now. Astre isn’t doing well in school because there’s less of you in his life. He’s doing well because there’s more of himself. He’s learning who he is when he’s on his own. It’s something you deserve to learn too.” Ciel stared at his father with wide, glistening eyes, still sniffling and coughing. Vincent chuckled to lighten the air. “For identical twins, you and Astre are completely different people. You always have been. Still, you have a close bond. I should have recognized that severing it would not be easy for either of you.”

“It’s easy for Astre,” Ciel grumbled.

“I wouldn’t say it has been.” Vincent leaned forward. “I rarely get a letter from you, but he writes us bimonthly. And he does talk about how much he misses you. He wishes things could be like they were before. But he feels the strain of schoolwork, and the pressure to succeed as a member of the Blue House.”

Tears had stopped falling now. “He didn’t tell me that.”

“I’m hopeful that this holiday will fulfill a need you both have for each other’s company,” Vincent said. “But I don’t want you to struggle in school anymore either. I think something has to be done.”

Ciel brightened. “Will you have me put in the Blue House?”

“No, no. I don’t believe in making special exceptions like that.” Ciel drooped. “I do think we can change some things for the better though. Something like arranging for time during the afternoon break or cricket for you both to see each other. Since you aren’t allowed in the Blue dormitory, perhaps we can arrange for a private study room for you to meet in the library. I know it isn’t the ideal location, but… it is a start. And if it means saving your school marks, I believe it is worth vouching for.”

“It wouldn’t be exactly the same. But… it would be better.” Ciel wiped at his bruised eye with the handkerchief, which made him flinch. “Ow.”

“As for the fight you got in,” Vincent said, “I will decide if I believe Weston ought to know about it. It may be for the best the school board does not. But this Cole character should indeed be reported to the headmaster. Allow me to handle that as well.”

“All right.” Ciel sat still on the cushion, hands on his knees. “Um… So, what is my punishment going to be?”

“I’ve decided… there won’t be one. _This_ time,” Vincent finished when Ciel gave a shocked expression. “Your marks cannot slip any farther from where they’re already at. If they do, coarser words will be exchanged. Do I have your promise that you’ll improve?”

“Yes, sir.” Ciel hung his head. “I’m sorry… for causing so much trouble.”

“Well, I’m just pleased the heart of the matter could be mended.” Vincent stood. He clapped a hand to his son’s shoulder. “Now, we ought to go join your mother and Astre downstairs, and you can give your apologies to her too.”

Ciel frowned. “I’d hate if any of the staff saw I’d been crying though. Especially with my eye like this. It’d be too embarrassing.”

Vincent sighed out his nose. A thought dawned on him. He squeezed the small shoulder once. “I have something I need you to help me with.”

“Huh?”

“I need you to explain to Astre,” said Vincent, “that Sebastian is dead.”

Ciel’s eyes widened. But soon he nodded slowly. “I thought so. I thought he might be, when Mother said he was getting long in the tooth and was off somewhere. Sebastian was always alert for guests.”

Vincent nodded back. “I think Astre might take Sebastian's death with more difficulty. I can’t think of anyone more suited for breaking the news to him than you. Can you do it?”

“Yes, sir. Of course.” With another swipe of his sleeve across his face, Ciel looked almost entirely better. “You told me that just now so if the staff stared at my face, I could say, ‘I can’t believe Sebastian died,’ didn’t you?”

“That’s the clever boy I know. Perhaps I can stop fearing for the future of your grades.” With a final pat on Ciel's shoulder, Vincent proceeded to the door. “Come along downstairs when you have collected yourself. We’ll be waiting.”

“I’m ready now. I’ll go with you.”

* * *

_What does a boy know of readiness?_ The thought popped into Vincent’s head as the pair walked side by side to the main room and its warm fire. His own brain quickly retorted, _What do any of us know? What do_ you _know?_ Rachel had wondered whether their sons were ready to go to Weston. Vincent had insisted they were. A choice had been made, and he would never know if it had been the best choice. But one had to believe the choices he made were the right ones or he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. So Vincent reflected instead on what he had learned from his choice: that Ciel would need much guidance and emotional support if he was to grow into a proper young man. With his emotions leading the way instead of a role model, he was liable to become reckless and uncontrollable.

Vincent ultimately decided it was good that he had sent the boys off to school, for then he might never have known the truth of Ciel’s sensitivity. What a disaster it would be, to let that raw emotional power develop unrestrained – or even to let the wrong person fan its flames. But boys did not stay boys forever. Eventually they outgrew their childish minds and became earls worthy of their estate.


End file.
